


Cat in the Rain

by Moonsheen



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Game(s), revolutionary boyfriendS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2289194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-DAII. Life on the revolutionary road with Anders is not always easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat in the Rain

The city burned.

City was a generous name for the place. It was more of a collection of small river hamlets that had over the centuries gained enough of a sprawl to be considered significant. They'd built docks on the islands. They'd built bridges between the docks. A series of gates had redirected enough water to build a wall to protect it. It earned enough provincial importance to gain the status of a regional hub. They called it a city, and the city burned.

It didn't really burn for long. The local templarate moved in to suppress the conflict. Some fool opened one of the floodgates, letting in the river that surrounded the walls on all sides. Any open fighting was preempted by the flood. And running. And shouting. And the choke of smoke from the guttering flames. Protesters marched in waist deep water. Templars stripped off their armor to escape being dragged under. Citizens huddled in doorways. Water choked the narrow roads. The city smoldered.

There'd been a protest in the square.

Effryn the dock boy threw himself on the raised steps of what had once been one of the district chapels. He clutched one the bent gates, wincing under the water's press. He was light, and though he had a nimbleness that earned him coin cleaning the sides of riverboats, he couldn't swim that well. The waters knocked him off his feet. It took two blocks of struggling, a chipped tooth, and a bloodied nose before he caught the iron rod from the gate. He lay on the bottom of the chapel steps, gasping for air. The water ebbed. The boy slumped against the steps, soaked and shivering.

He looked up.

The man in black looked back at him. 

Effryn swore, scraping his hand hard on the steps as he tried to edge away. He saw the man's staff, and the black feathers on his collar, and the sharp, prickly eyes staring down at him and he knew: mage, mage, mage. He tasted blood in his mouth. He coughed on it. “Ah, oh, Maker. No no no no...You fuck right off--”

The mage's mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer. Light crackled off the hand touching the staff.

“You,” whispered the mage, in a voice thick from smoke and outrage. It cut through the clouds of noise like thunder. “All this, and you fear ME?”

The last word came out as a shout, from a face so pale and contorted it looked barely human. Effryn slipped trying to find his feet. The hand that came for him was bright and burning. The boy felt his body pitch backwards, but his body couldn't fall. The mage's hand blotted out the world, fingers like claws dug into his jaw and cheekbone. Pain stabbed through his broken nose. Everything smelled like fire and lyrium. Effryn couldn't even scream.

“... I've barely enough for this,” muttered the mage, in a tone less made of thunder and more a vague irritation. “Hold still, would you?”

Light throbbed. His grip loosened. Effryn broke free with a strength he hadn't a moment before.

“Bugger off!” snapped the dock boy, stumbling to his feet. He charged off through the streets. The water sloshed around his ankles. He didn't notice that his mouth no longer hurt or that his nose no longer bled. He had other things on his mind just then.

Alone, the mage collapsed on the steps of the chapel. Crumpled on his side, he took a deep rattling breath. The rain started. He put a hand over his eyes, and didn't move.

He heard water and debris bump against the side of the steps. He heard boots squelch in the mud. Passing templar, raging protesters, fleeing civilians – hard to tell from the sound. One set of boots came tromping up the steps. A gloved hand grabbed his shoulder, crushing damp feathers as it rolled him onto his back. It ached to be handled so brusquely, but the mage managed only a low groan in protest.

“I closed the floodgate,” said Hawke.

“Did you?” murmured Anders, in voice still hoarse from shouting.

“Yes. The water should drain out in a few hours. The streets will be a mess … but no one will need a boat to visit the fish market.”

Anders peered up at him through his fingers. “And you had ...nothing to do with opening them in the first place?”

Hawke didn't answer that one. Just thrust a hand into the pack over his shoulder. He twisted the cap off of a potion, removed Anders' hand from his face, slid the vial between his limp fingers, and said: “It's proved a bit of a distraction for all parties, hasn't it?”

“That's a way to put it,” muttered Anders, struggling to tip the burning drink through cold, stiff lips. “Do you think anyone in the square actually heard me? Before the shouting and the ...general deluge.”

Hawke watched him with one of the long, considering stares that so often came before he answered a question. “The docks have been washed out,” he said, at last. “And all the old workhouses have burned down. There's no building left for holding anyone. There won't be any packing any young mages up the river again any time soon, if ever again. Can't imagine the slavers will be bouncing back any time soon either.”

“It's practically the same thing,” said Anders, dropping the empty potion bottle on the steps. It clinked and rolled into the waning waters. “But one would certainly have made Fenris happier--”

“Anders,” said Hawke.

Anders slumped back against the steps. The sneer faded faster than his strength. “... the best possible outcome, I suppose. Can't imagine we'll be welcome to see how it all settle.”

“There's a few ways it could go,” admitted Hawke, shifting through his pack again. “The templars evacuated when the waters came in. They might try to reclaim the walls, once it’s dry – but I think Karima and her Magic Knights should be able to take it from here.”

“... you just wanted to say the name,” sighed Anders.

“It's got a ring to it.”

“It's lousy. Of course you'd say that.” Anders swallowed, and looked up.

“About fifty six in the square,” said Hawke, before he could ask. “Probably a couple dozen in the riots. A few in the flood.”

“...oh,” Anders forced a laugh. It couldn't quite make it out of his chest. “Is that all? Well, that's just another hundred to the unavenged.”

“That's another hundred debts to repay,” said Hawke, strongly. He stopped struggling with the pack. He knelt across from Anders, forcing him back into a seated position, ducking his head low to meet his shaking – mostly human – eyes. “We have a boat to catch.”

“Don't coddle me—”

“And I found something.” Hawke shoved the bundle into Anders cold hands. The flaps fell away. Anders jerked, reflexively, and then froze. He stared at the contents for a long time.

“...you must be joking,” he breathed, at last. The rain picked up. Anders bent under it, feeling the bite of the season for the first time in what seemed like days.

“Fished it out of the gutters,” said Hawke, “Its not in the best condition. I thought you might be able to work with it.”

“This is hardly the time...”

“Should we leave it?”

Anders tensed. “No,” he snapped, in a voice that crackled more than he meant.

Hawke waited.

“No,” said Anders, in a steadier voice. He hunched more firmly. He cast one quick, careful fire spell – his hand cupped to block the rain.

The cat squinted up at him, butting its head against his dry, bandaged sleeve.

“Well?” asked Hawke.

“...a tabby,” murmured the mage, lips twitching with a smile that fought its way between bitter and fond, and ended somewhere in-between. “How did you know?”

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from an ernest hemingway short. alternate title 'my boyfriend (the brutal anarchist) cannot possibly be this cute.'
> 
> uhhhhh, post Anders lives romance route, obviously. just watch inquisition screw this headcanon up. just watch.


End file.
